


Wonderland

by scrapbullet



Category: Green Lantern (Comic)
Genre: AU, Gen, Original Character(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2011-10-23
Updated: 2011-10-23
Packaged: 2017-10-24 21:33:15
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,112
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/268124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/scrapbullet/pseuds/scrapbullet
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He accepts it. Of course he does. It is their way, the way of the tribe. The way of family. Each of them must depart on a pilgrimage, explore and guide and be guided by their mighty entity of indigo light. He is no different.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wonderland

“You are being tested, my dear,” Indigo-1 murmurs, and her energies surround him with a warmth so encompassing that he can’t help but sigh, lean into it and bask in the glow of compassion. “It is not a fair test, true, but it is one you must pass nonetheless.”

He accepts it. Of course he does. It is their way, the way of the tribe. The way of family. Each of them must depart on a pilgrimage, explore and guide and be guided by their mighty entity of indigo light. He is no different. He stands before the Elders, skin unmarked by ink and so very young, stands with head bowed and acknowledges.

Acknowledges that many of their family have died on this very quest, not strong enough to withstand the subtle and intricate rules that dictate them so.

“I’m afraid.”

Indigo-1 smiles as she cups his face. Her hands are long and slender, and they trace the lines of his brow with a familiarity that is sweet and maternal. She’d done the same on his birthing day, Munk had grudgingly told him, and every occasion thereafter; mother and child in bond but not in blood.

He loves her. It’s no small stretch; she’s wise, though scarred. She wasn’t always so composed, so compassionate, and that she has walked through the hardships of life and come out the other side all the stronger means much to him. Her regard is important.

“I know. But think of this, child, think of this; when you return you shall be one of us, finally; no longer a child, but an adult; a warrior.”

Warrior. The very thought of it makes his chest swell with some unnameable emotion, and he bows his head, overcome.

“Now,” Indigo-1 continues, and she places the leather satchel over his shoulder with care, “you must go. Find yourself, and return safely.”

When he finally leaves the sector, encased in indigo light, ring vibrating warmly on his finger, he recalls that she looked so very sad as he left.

So very sad.

-

His first trial is thus;

A child, with feet bare and bloody from walking many miles without shoes, and she has tears in her eyes as he finds her, holding the ragged doll in her arms tightly, the only lifeline she has left. Her village is destroyed. Rubble lies in heaps upon the scorched ground, smoke rising thick and black into the air amidst a silence so deafening that he wants to scream, scream and rage against the injustice of it all.

But that’s not why he’s here.

Why is he here?

“Where is your mother?”

The little one only shrugs, salty water running down her cheeks. She sniffs, mucus accumulating on her upper lip, and he rips off a piece of his loincloth so she can wipe her nose with dignity.

“And your father?”

“He went to war. He’s in the army,” she adds, nodding so quickly that the thin tentacles on her beige head twitch and fly into the air before they settle. “I think he’s dead, too.”

He feels sick. Tasting bile on his tongue he swallows it back quickly before she can see, but she does anyway, sharp eyed and old before her years. She curls up against his side and nibbles on a tuber, pulling a face at the bitter taste but consuming it regardless, for food is food and though she wants to die the urge to survive still exists, though buried deep beneath the agony.

He watches her eat, just to make sure.

“What happened here?” he says finally, when she’s eaten her fill.

“What always happens when there’s a war; there’s battles, and people die.”

People die.

It’s a hard lesson for him to swallow.

The little one blinks then, slanted eyes no longer wet with fresh tears. “What’s your name? You never said it, you know, and Mama always says it’s polite to inquire about one’s name.”

He stifles a laugh. Children are amazingly adaptable. “Nicholas.”

“Mine’s Amella. I’m named after my Grandmamma.” She beams, though it’s understated. He knows that his small act of kindness has done her good, lifted her spirits if but for a moment, though he’s not sure what else he can do for her. The land is decimated for many miles, and as far as he can tell she’s the only survivor.

“It’s a very pretty name,” Nicholas concedes. Amella looks pleased, and he wraps a soft wool blanket from his pack around her shoulders, and watches her sleep.

She doesn’t wake up.

His heart breaks.

-

“I’m not sure I can do this,” he admits aloud, after he buries her body. The rag doll serves as a marker, and the wind stings his face as he cries. “She was so young. It isn’t fair.”

Vaguely, he recalls Indigo-1 telling him that nature is not in the business of being fair. Indeed, she is a cruel mistress, nature, and for a moment there is a flare of hate in his chest that doesn’t abate. Children shouldn’t have to die. They should laugh and learn and love and, most of all, flourish.

They should _live_.

“It isn’t fair,” he says again, but it doesn’t matter; there’s no-one around to hear him speak anyway.

-

“I failed.”

“No, you have not. Though, you have returned rather sooner than I thought you would.”

Nicholas worries his lip between his teeth. He isn’t proud to admit it; that upon the first trial of his pilgrimage he had been so thoroughly affected as to come straight home, with his proverbial tail between his legs. He isn’t proud at all, but here he is, and Indigo-1 draws him into her arms with a sigh that belies her abject concern.

“I couldn’t do it,” and his voice is muffled against her shoulder, “I couldn’t, she _died_. She died and I could do nothing about it-”

Indigo-1 draws away, but her palms remain upon his shoulders. “No, child, you eased her passing. You gave her sustenance and companionship and a warm place to sleep. You gave her more than you think.”

“But she _died_.”

“All things die, in the end.”

All things die.

-

He sets out once more, his heart a little heavier but his head a little higher. Knowledge, now, rests upon his breast in the shape of a diamond; mere henna, a temporary symbol of the mourning in his heart. He had drawn it himself with an unsteady hand, and each imperfection lends an air of desperation to the representation.

Munk sees him off, tall and powerful and commanding.

Nicholas inhales, exhales. He breathes, and lets the indigo light envelop him.

He lets go.


End file.
